A/N : Gosh, that has to be my longest absence! I am so so sorry! Apparently, depression kills my muse and buries her six feet under. BUT I also have two more WIPs because ... well, just 'cause. Although, Imma publish them as one shots and only AFTER I finish this. And that should be done in a few more chapters, so yay!

Forgive me, my lovelies, the next chapter will be up soon!

Thank you to all those who continue to support me and please leave a review if you can! It would mean a lot!

Dean had been shocked, to say the least. It was, after all, not everyday that you found out that your little brother was not just an advanced level of spoonbender but also a mind exorcist. Or whatever they were called. If such people even existed.

He was scared, yeah, but not for the reasons that Sam would undoubtedly think were. He was scared for him. The visions had left him with nasty migraines and he had all but collapsed with exhaustion when the Max Miller case had been finished.

And the new exorcism thing apparently left him with a nosebleed from hell.

He was not looking forward to breaking the news to Sam but knew it had to be done. If only to wrangle Sam to bed, who otherwise would have sat up till the end of time until Dean finally caved. That kid had been more intuitive than Dean cared to admit.

And it was upto Dean to convince Sam that he was not evil or going darkside or something equally stupid. For all his genius, Sam could be thick-headed where it counted the most.

"Sammy ... I know what you're thinking. But you saved me, alright? So don't go starting that shit about going darkside and becoming a monster, again, you hear me?", Dean's voice was soft but firm, leaving no room for argument.

If only it were that easy with Sam.

Dean felt his heart give a jolt when those tearful eyes turned to him, filled with a self loathing that Dean hated seeing in his little brother's eyes.

But before he could start to get that look off of Sam's eyes, a groan sounded from behind him and the brothers turned as one as Bobby rose, swaying to his feet, one hand on his head. He waved Dean off as the older brother half rose from his seat on the bed to help the older man.

Dean sank back, thankful to be able to direct his full attention towards Sam's guilt that seemed to have multiplied at the sight of the injured hunter.

Bobby shook himself and stumbled towards the chair, sinking into it slowly with a groan.

"Bobby - you feel okay?", Sam's voice was almost a whisper but carried loud and clear in the silent room.

"I - yeah, except from feeling like I got hit by a truck. What the hell happened?", Bobby questioned, eyes roving from Sam to Dean and back again, before he added, voice relatively softening, "How are you feeling, Sam?"

Sam's head jerked in a half-nod, half abandoned shrug. He let his eyes drop to somewhere in the vicinity of Dean's knee.

"You were, uh, possessed, Bobby. Went out to get some food and ... yeah. It was Meg. Meg Masters." Dean watched Sam carefully for a flinch or some kind of reaction but the younger Winchester remained with his head down, absentmindedly fiddling with the leg of Dean's jeans. It had been a nervous tic ever since Sam was a kid.

He had used to fiddle with whatever Dean was wearing at the time, touch light so as not to disturb Dean from whatever he was doing and somehow just that touch seemed to be enough to ground him. It had presented for an adorable picture whenever they were out in public and the floppy haired, doe eyed kid shyly ducked down and fiddled with the hem of Dean's shirt or jacket.

It had gotten a lot of 'aww's, much to Dean's exasperated amusement and an extra slice of pie or piece of candy, much to his satisfaction.

It had also never failed to send a bolt of overwhelming urge to protect. Sam's innocence and hope that shone through didn't help either.

Not that that had remained intact given the things Sam had gone through. Sometimes Dean wondered how Sam found it in himself to forgive Dean with barely a blink of the eye when Dean had colossally fucked up everything in his life. If he hadn't been the fuck-up, he had certainly not been there to prevent the fuck-up.

A bang up job he was doing of being a big brother.

And yet, he thought to himself, here was the same floppy haired, doe eyed kid, fiddling with his jeans (perhaps unconsciously even, which just made it just that more endearing) like it was the only thing keeping him from losing his shit.

So, perhaps, he wasn't the worst big brother ever. Even he could grant that to himself, thanks to Sam.

He mentally shook himself and focused back on Bobby as the man stared at him blankly.

Oh yeah ... the possession and the mysterious absence of Meg.

"So? How did you get rid of her?", Bobby's voice shook a bit from fear and anger. "Did she hurt - you or Sam?"

"Well, we're okay. Just banged up a bit. And as to how we got rid of her ... well, an exorcism, of course." Dean plastered a sickly grin onto his face. It wasn't a lie, exactly. Just a saccharinely sugar coated truth. There was no need to sell out Sam until he was sure that Bobby wouldn't freak out and bolt out the door. Or worse. Not that they had had any reason not to trust Bobby.

Still, you never knew.

"I exorcised her with my mind, Bobby", came the toneless voice and Dean snapped his eyes shut, wincing internally, before opening them to meet Bobby's wide eyes. Which were focused on the speaker who was still sitting with his head down, looking for all the world as if he was hiding behind his hair.

Bobby's gaze flickered back to Dean and Dean could see the questions brimming in his eyes. He shook his head minutely and turned back to Sam.

Later.

Bobby did the same after a contemplative pause.

"Yeah, well, and saved our asses, if me bein' alive is anything to go by", Bobby grunted, roughly patting Sam on his shoulder, as he stood up with a groan. Sam's head shot up and Dean didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the surprise he found in his face.

Did Sam really think that everything would change because of some newly discovered freaky mojo?

He grinned his thanks to Bobby anyways, when Sam turned back to fiddling with Dean's jeans.

"Let's get you horizontal, whatcha say, bro?", Dean interrupted softly, ducking down to catch Sam's eyes. Or at least, tried to.

Sam still refused to look up at him and Dean frowned. He was about to ask him what the matter was (Excepting the guilt and doubt and fear and everything else that Sam was no doubt feeling, of course) when Bobby called him.

He looked up to see the older hunter looking at the door. Or more specifically, the foot of it.

Where the salt line was.

Dean got up, lightly squeezing the back of Sam's neck, I'll be right back, Sammy, and walked around the bed, a question on his lips which died as abruptly as his movement.

Where the salt line had been.

"Son of a -", Dean exchanged a look with Bobby, both of them at a loss for words. Dean remembered, with certainty, drawing the salt line and actually re-salting when the douche from that morning or afternoon or whatever had knocked on the door and nearly woken Sam up.

He had salted it. He was sure of it.

He said as much to Bobby.

"Did you see it when you went outside?", Dean questioned, his tone sharper than he intended. So help him. If it turned out that Sam getting attacked by Meg was Dean's fault ...

"I - not really, but if it had been whole, I - Meg wouldn't have been able to enter now, would she?", Bobby's stare seemed far away and Dean left him to it. He thought back to when he had been outside.

He had. Except, he hadn't broken the salt line.

Had he?

He recalled seeing the man near his car, having a smoke. Remembered the hint of trepidation and the chills that the sight had given him. Remembered turning away. Remembered turning back and returning to the room.

Remembered tripping while entering the room.

"Son of a bitch, Bobby, that guy must have been - he was possessed, god damnit!", Dean clenched his fists, struggling to keep his voice low, careful not to shock Sam from his near comatose state.

"The guy in the parking lot?"

"You saw him?"

"I - yeah, I - come to think of it, I don't remember anything after that. I saw him near a truck, was walking to my own truck ... and nothing." Bobby rubbed his eyes, struggling to remember.

"What about your anti-possession charm? How did the demon get past that?"

Bobby's eyes widened at that and he palmed at his chest frantically.

"It's gone."

"Great. That's just great. How the hell does a demon get rid of an anti-possession charm, Bobby?", Dean snapped, eyes flashing at Bobby even though he knew that he wasn't angry at Bobby himself.

"Do I look like I've got a clue, boy? I don't know, Dean! And the girl at the reception very kindly told me that there's no one here but us and one other occupant." Bobby got to work, refilling the salt line, leaving Dean to pace off his anger and growing fear.

A demon could never touch an anti possession charm. Bobby's, especially, were made from a mixture of iron molded with boiled holy water and all that crap. God knew where Bobby had gotten them from but Dean had been thankful for them. Especially after Sam's run-in with Meg the first time around.

Even the cord was blessed by some high priest in some church. Sam had gone on and on about the qualities of the charms, spending a whole night (like, an actual full night) looking up stuff and geeking out all over his sleep schedule.

Dean didn't give a crap about what it contained as long as it kept them safe.

Speaking of his geek brother, Sam was still more or less in the same position, except he had gained a certain amount of clarity and now sat watching Dean and Bobby's movement around the room.

One thing at a time. And Dean's priority list never changed. Sam came first. Always. Solving mysteries could wait.

Dean crossed swiftly towards Sam and gingerly sat on the edge of the bed.

"Hey, sasquatch, you plannin' on getting some rest? You look like crap", Dean said gently, lips quirking in a fond grin as Sam's dimples appeared for a brief second, before disappearing. He wondered if he would ever stop being fond of the overgrown, trouble magnet of a brother.

He mentally shook himself as he approached a dangerously mushy level of feelings and focused instead on what he could fix.

Sam, being Sam, shook his head.

"'m okay. Not tired", he croaked, and his voice made Dean wince. He laid a palm on his forehead, gauging his temperature and withdrew it before Sam had gained enough energy to move away.

At least, a combative Sam was an on-the-road-to-recovery Sam. Well, the Sam he had known was. Now, however, Dean didn't know if it was remnants of that Sam or if this was a new thing that he had learnt from being alone for so long.

Well and truly alone.

"Well, your temp's no worse. And I know you're tired, because your droopy eyes are making me sleepy, bro. So, how about you pop a few of the good stuff and go to sleep?", Dean gently pushed Sam onto his back and Sam went willingly enough. Whether it was from the blood loss, pain or exhaustion was anyone's guess. Dean had the slight suspicion that the shivers that were coming back full force were an indication of shock.

He rooted through the med kit, stifling a grin at the sight of Sam following his movements with hazy eyes, the sight reminding him of a much younger Sam. He pulled out the Tylenol with a soft 'aha'.

He handed a couple of the pills to Sam, supporting him as he pushed himself onto his elbows and watched as he swallowed them with the glass of water Dean handed to him. He collapsed onto his back even before he had fully drunk the water, shaking his head at Dean's offer of more.

Dean had wrangled Sam into one of his own sweatshirts earlier (Sam strangely found comfort in Dean's clothes whenever he was sick or hurt) and he was now glad that that was out of the way since Sam seemed more asleep than awake. He felt the familiar worry again at the sudden exhaustion that had crept up on his little brother, but dismissed it as the shock of the ... well, the last couple of days? A week?

"Dean", Sam's voice was muffled, half his face buried in the pillow. He was still fighting sleep and the slowly easing shivers made the whole bed rattle. But his eyes were starting to tear up with something more than pain.

Physical pain, at least.

Sam had always been a closed book. He had baffled their dad, even their mom. But Dean, if there was one book that Dean had memorized from cover to cover, it was 'The Book of Sammy'. And right now, as much as he struggled to hide the pain from Dean, while succeeding and failing in equal amounts, Dean garnered everything inside Sam that was struggling to burst forth, from just that one word and look.

"I'll be here, Sammy. I'm not leaving, I promise", he whispered, one hand squeezing Sam's shoulder and the other pushing away the dirty curls falling into Sam's eyes. He needed a shower before he started stinking up the room, Dean thought distractedly. The "sponge baths" did only so much in cleaning a man.

Sam's eyes slipped shut, a final tear dripping off this nose. Dean wiped it off with his thumb, smiling sadly but this time with hope. They were headed in the right direction, at last.

As long as Sam believed, he could heal.

Dean would remain by his side to make sure he did.

A/N : So? Good? Bad? Terrible? Awful? Eh? Let me know in the reviews!